Eyes Wide Shut
by Red Tape Will Drive You Nuts
Summary: Six days, seven bodies, and a monster with a taste for the young. Sam and Dean's mettle is tested when they catch a case that shakes a community to its core and threatens to consume it entirely. When the monster's M. O. hits close to home, they'll have to dig deep for the strength to put it down - no matter what the cost to themselves.
1. Now I Lay Me

**Set season three, just after "Dream a Little Dream of Me."**

* * *

The sun was low in the sky, but still visible. He scanned their area for civvies, wishing they'd waited until nightfall to do this; it was possible some of the family might come back before the day was out. Dean squinted in the golden light as Sam labored in the shadow of the grave, shoveling the last of the dirt off the top of the casket.

He looked up at Dean, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"We ready?"

_Nope, _he thought, looking reluctantly down into the pit. _Not by a long shot._

It was the smallest casket Dean had ever seen. _Can't be more than three feet long, _he thought, feeling lightheaded. _Be surprised if he kid was walking yet. _It was cheap, too, which really kicked the horror factor into the stratosphere, at least for Dean. A simple pine box with brass latches along one side and hinges on the other. A cross had been carved into the lid.

They didn't usually have to resort to digging up fresh bodies, but there was no way to get near the kid before the burial – the family was hovering around constantly, and they'd been suspicious as all get out of strangers since the spree had started. Not that Dean could blame them – seven children dead of natural causes inside a week had everyone in the community tearing their hair out. Couple that with the anxiety surrounding law enforcement, and he and Sam had thrown in the towel and just waited for the funeral.

And now it was time to bite the bullet.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to stay on his feet. The last thing he needed was to pass out and go tumbling headfirst into the hole.

"No point in waiting." Dean did his best to keep his voice even. They'd dug hundreds of graves in their lifetimes, but it was different when the pine box wasn't much bigger than a shoebox. "Let's just get it over with."

Sam sighed and nodded, dusting off the lid. "Here goes."

The hinges creaked as Sam fumbled with the lid, and Dean took a deep breath as the lid opened.

Though he knew it was ridiculous, part of him had been expecting the body to be rotten or crawling with worms or something else that would make him want to toss his cookies, but the reality was much more sobering.

The kid couldn't have been more than two.

"Jesus," Sam said, turning away as best he could.

He was wearing a heartbreakingly small tuxedo with a little bow tie. His face was pale, but not gray, and his shiny shoes caught and reflected some of the fading sunlight. His mouth was open, as though he were breathing through it, and his small hands were still folded over his chest.

"Don't drag it out, Sam. Just look for it so we can get the hell out of here."

"Easy for you to say," Sam snapped. "You're not the one who has to do it."

"Sam-"

"Fine, god damn it."

Sam quickly turned back the collar of the shirt, glancing at the boy's neck.

"Well?"

He looked up at Dean and nodded solemnly.

Dean swore and walked a few feet from the graveside. _Son of a bitch, _he thought. _When we catch you..._

Sam appeared at his side, dusting anxiously at his clothes and looking green. "At least we know what's going on, now. That's something, right?"

Dean snorted derisively. "Yeah, I feel lucky. Don't you?"

Sam headed back toward the grave.

"What are you doing? We gotta get ready for tonight-"

"We can't just leave him open like this, Dean," Sam snapped. Dean didn't take it personally; god knew he was feeling a little frazzled himself. "Go set things up. I'll meet you back at the motel in an hour."

"Yeah, okay."

The sun finally disappeared behind the hills as Dean passed through the gates of the cemetery and into the parking lot. The Impala was parked at the far end, near the restrooms, and as he walked toward it, he wondered how the hell the kid's family was gonna reconcile all this. How did you come to terms with laying your two-year-old to rest in a city-donated pine box? What the hell was the point of it all after _that_?

He didn't usually let his mind wander in this direction – he's have lost his marbles years ago if he did – but this case was unhinging him at the base like few others had. As he started the car and backed out, he popped an AC/DC cassette into the player and cranked the volume up to the max. This album was far from his favorite and parts of it were downright crappy, but the riffs were always louder than his thoughts.

Couldn't beat that.


	2. Down to Sleep

Sam stumbled into the room around midnight, smelling mildly of tequila. Dean tossed his phone onto the bed and only just caught him as he tripped over a chair, lowering him onto the other bed.

"Where the hell have you been? I called you five times."

"Bar," he said. "Thought I'd get further without the fed suit."

_Smart. _"And?"

He took the glass of water Dean handed him, sitting up to drink. "Nothin' new. Kids went to sleep after Sunday night bible study and never woke up. No illnesses, nothing freaky happening during mass, zip."

"There's gotta be more to it than that. No way this many deaths are natural, and with those post-mortem marks..."

Sam shrugged and rested his head against the headboard, closing his eyes. "Prob'ly be easier to 'vestigate after tomorrow, though."

"Why's that?"

"Cops are dropping the case," Sam mumbled. "No evidence. Clean autopsy. Nothing to go on."

"That's something, I guess," Dean said, climbing into his own bed. "Least we won't have to dodge the LAPD anymore."

"Yeah."

Dean hesitated.

"See any of the parents?"

Sam was silent, and Dean thought he'd fallen asleep before he answered.

"One."

"How was he?"

"How do you think?"

"Mmm."

He fell asleep for real after that, but Dean stayed awake, occasionally looking over at his brother. Lately, he preferred sleeping Sam; the kid's incessant searching for a way to break his deal was making him anxious, especially now that Dean had finally committed to the idea. Sam had redoubled his efforts, and they'd been hustling demon after demon, searching for anything that might be of use. They were still empty handed, so far, but the way they were going, they'd find a way.

_If a way exists. If not, Sam'll be staring down into your casket, just like these vics' parents. _

But he pushed that thought away.

The day had been depressing enough.

* * *

St. Mary's of the Valley was small, with just ten pews and two stained glass windows. In spite of its size, it served all the Catholics in Via de la Mesa, mostly migrant workers. When they'd first caught wind of the case, Dean had wondered whether some child-killer was to blame; the children of immigrants, many of whom were illegal, weren't exactly high priority for the cops around here.

But the markings on the bodies had put paid to that.

"And you say the Medranos were here every week?"

Sam had a note pad in his hand and had jotted down several notes, his _Weekly World News _laminate hanging from his neck.

"Never missed a service," the Sunday school teacher said sadly. She was a young woman, maybe twenty-five, and her dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail. "Good kid. And so young…"

They followed her into the playroom, where she set about putting away a set of colored blocks. Dean wandered around, looking for clues, while Sam kept her talking.

"If you don't mind my asking, Miss Gutierrez, were you here two nights ago, on the day before Freddie Medrano passed away?"

She nodded. "Call me Marisol. And I'm here every day, pretty much. My dad's up in Sacramento for work, and I needed a summer job. He wants me to practice my Spanish, so here I am."

"Did anything weird happen? Anybody come by you'd never seen before?"

She thought, then shook her head. "No. It was just business as usual. Bible study, then everyone went home."

"Were Freddie and his parents here that night?"

"Yeah. The Anderson's – that's who they work for – give them Sundays off, so they came by that night."

"Did Freddie seem okay? Sick? Scared?"

"The opposite, actually. He was the happiest I'd seen him in a while. They'd been having some trouble keeping their rent up, you know, and he'd been picking up on all the stress. But on Sunday, it was like it was his birthday – he was running around, leading the other kids in games, everything." She paused, swallowing. "Made the news worse when I heard it. It was like he knew or something. Decided to enjoy his last day…"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

She shook her head, wiping at her eye. "That's stupid though, right? He was two years old." She stood up, turning to Sam. "Was any of that helpful?"

"Very much," he said. "Thanks for doing this."

"Thank _you_. The press hasn't been paying enough attention to what's going on. The people here don't want to talk to the feds for obvious reasons, but someone is killing these kids. And now they've closed the case like it was nothing…"

"We'll get to the bottom of it," Dean said. "Count on that."

She smiled warmly. "Well, afternoon services are starting in an hour. I've still got stuff to clean, so…"

"We'll get out of your way. Thanks again."

They took their time walking down the hall to the front of the church, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

"Think it means anything? The kid being so happy the night he died?"

Dean shook his head in frustration. "I dunno. We got to find out if the other kids were the same way."

They trotted down the steps.

"Library's open," Sam said. "Think it'll be worth it to read up on So Cal, look for the mark this thing is leaving on their necks? Might be some kind of monster or spirit indigenous to the area doing this."

"What the hell." Dean opened the driver door. "The other parents won't be off work until nine at the earliest. Can't hurt to know our history."


	3. I Pray The Lord

Sam closed the last book they'd pulled – an old bible that had been checked out by someone with very neat handwriting – and stacked it atop the others in the reject pile.

"Well, that was a colossal waste of time," Dean said with a self-satisfied smile.

"You agreed it was a good idea," Sam said, standing. He slid the strap of his bag over his shoulder, making sure his computer was safely nestled inside. They crossed the main floor of the library, trying not to make too much noise. "Don't whine now because it didn't pan out."

The automatic doors parted for them and they stepped out into the evening heat. "I thought we should have left hours ago," Dean muttered. "Once we started on the different Bible editions, it was a wrap."

"Got any better ideas, Einstein? This couple's probably not going to know anything we can use, and we have nothing else to go on."

The Impala door screeched as Dean pulled it open. "We got to get into these kids' houses, man. At least one of them. This thing has to leave some kind of evidence behind."

Sam shook his head absently, rolling down his window as Dean backed out. "We'll have to clear one of the houses if we want that. The cops might be off our backs, but people have really pulled together. Last night at the bar they were talking about holding shifts at each other's houses in case the guy comes back." Sam rested his head against the back of the seat. "It'll be a challenge."

Dean joined Interstate 5, headed north. It was after rush hour, so there was little traffic, and their speed crept up to eighty. They didn't have far to go; the Medranos' employer lived only a few miles by from Via de la Mesa in a nearby suburb.

"What about during the daylight hours? These people work like sixteen hours a day; it shouldn't be that hard to get a few minutes to poke around."

"Extended family. We'll be seen, Dean. No two ways about it. Plus, we'll need time to search. The cops have been over the crime scenes a dozen times, and if they didn't find anything, we'll need at least an hour to pick up what they missed."

_Way to keep the faith, Sam. _"Welp," Dean said, pulling onto their exit ramp, "looks like we'll have to get creative."

"Meaning?"

Dean winked, rolling down his window. "All in good time, young Padawan."

Sam rolled his eyes but let it drop, looking out his window. It was amazing what a difference a few miles on a California freeway could make – ten minutes had taken them from south central to a real estate investor's wet dream, complete with store-bought lawns. As Dean parked the Impala in front of the house, Sam was struck by a slew of memories – he and Jess had visited countless friends at countless homes just like this one while he was at Stanford. It was good to think of her again.

"Earth to Sam." Dean was waving a hand in his face. "We're here."

He slapped it away. "I can see that."

"Whatcha thinking about?"

"None of your business."

"C'mon, don't be shy."

"Let's go in," Sam said, clipping his badge to his shirt. "Kids are dying."

"Yeah, yeah."

They got out and headed up the concrete walk, ducking to avoid low-hanging palm fronds. They rang the bell and Dean put on a pair of glasses.

"Since when do you wear glasses?"

Dean grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It looks news-y."

"It looks ridiculous."

"They're hot, Sam. These frames are Anne Klein, and not the ones on sale."

"How do you know?"

"Guy I swiped 'em off told me."

David Anderson answered the door before Sam got a chance to scold him. He was in his mid-fifties, balding, and had a friendly face.

"Can I help you?"

"Good evening, sir," Dean said. "We're with _Weekly World News, _and we're here to ask a few questions about the recent deaths of some local kids. Marisol Gutierrez mentioned you – "

His smile faded and a gentle sadness settled into his face. "Our housekeepers' son was one of the ones… taken," he said, nodding. "'Bout time someone from the media showed some goddam interest. C'mon in."

They followed him in and he shut the door behind them, gesturing at the sofa in the small living room. Dean stole a quick glance around the place, surprised by the low ceilings and close walls; it was much smaller than it looked from the outside, that was for sure. There was generic brownish furniture and tan carpeting, and the kitchen and dining rooms were nothing to write home to mother about. Apart from a cast-iron cat umbrella stand by the front door, there was nothing out of the ordinary that he could see.

David sat down in one of the chairs by the bay windows, sighing heavily. He looked tired, and as he ran a hand over his rather chubby face, Dean wondered what he did for a living. Couldn't be anything too strenuous if his hands were anything to go by; probably some office gig.

"Thanks for taking the time to do this," Sam said, doing a full force puppy-pout. "We really appreciate it."

"It's ridiculous," he said sharply. "There are seven dead children in as many days, and the police are closing the cases, can you believe it? The CDC was here a few days ago, but they didn't find anything they could identify, so they went back to Atlanta. And the news? Far as they're concerned, none of this is even happening."

"We're here to remedy that," Dean said.

"I'll help you out in any way I can, believe me. Can't imagine what I'd do if it was my kid, I tell you that."

Sam nodded, jotting something in his notebook. "You heard about the story through the Medranos, right?"

David nodded. "They both called off work the morning after, no notice, and they never do that unless something's really wrong. So my wife went over to see if she needed anything, or if she was sick, you know, and the whole place is overflowing with cops. Turns out, the kid's dead, and Lourdes – that's Mrs. Medrano – is a complete mess. She actually tries to apologize to my wife for not coming to work, but Char wouldn't hear any of it, of course."

"And the police didn't find anything?"

"No indication of foul play, is what they said. So they do the autopsy, and find nothing, but I was chatting with the M. E. at church – he knows the Medranos through friends of theirs – and he says that there have been six other kids died the same way and nobody knows a thing! I say, I never heard anything about that, and he says, yeah, there's nothing to tell, except they're dead and nobody knows why."

Sam leaned forward. "So the M. E. didn't notice anything weird about eh bodies, then? No wounds, no marks, nothing like that?"

"If he did, he's keeping quiet about it."

_So it waits until after the autopsies to mark the bodies, _he thought_. That's crafty of him. Maybe this really is a poisoned-candy-and-rickety-van situation. _

Sam scribbled something more in his notebook and Dean picked up the conversation. "You said to spoke to him at church. Which church was this?"

"St. Mary's of the Valley," he said. "We don't attend mass there usually, but they were having a special service for little Freddie, and we went for support. I've worked with St. Mary's on occasion as well, so we're no strangers."

"What sort of work?"

"I sell children's prayer books for a local Christian publisher. St. Mary's parishioners wanted Spanish versions in addition to English, and the Medranos asked if I'd be able to get those, since they know what I do for a living."

Dean nodded, thinking. There was something there to follow, he could feel it, but it was too vague to grasp.

"The night Freddie passed away, do you remember anything out of the ordinary? Were his parents worried, did he seem strange…"

David shook his head. "They're off on Sundays, so we didn't see them. Saturday they were fine, nothing strange."

"Was there-"

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Anderson. Is there any time we could come by when you're wife would be home? We'd like to get some more personal details about all this for the story." Sam closed his notebook.

"You could come back Thursday," he said, looking a bit surprised. _Join the club, _Dean thought. "Around noon. Char gets off work at eleven on Thursdays and she'll be home by then."

"Sounds great." Sam stood and shook Mr. Anderson's hand. "It was great meeting you. I look forward to seeing you again to wrap things up."

"You don't have any more questions?"

"Not just now, no," Sam explained. "We're trying to gather what we can about what happened to the kids, and after that we'll talk more about the article."

David frowned but accepted the answer, walking them to the door. "All right, then. Don't hesitate to call. I'd hate to think a child killer's on the loose out there because I knew something and didn't get a chance to say it."

"Thanks. We'll call you," Sam said, starting for the car. David closed the door and Dean hurried after him, dropping into the driver's seat.

"What the hell was that?"

"We have to get back to the motel. I have to see if the other vics bought any of this guy's prayer books."

Dean started the car, shaking his head in disbelief. "You think Reading Rainbow in there's behind this? C'mon, Sam."

"Maybe not, but we don't know what the prayers say. Whatever this monster is kills these kids in their sleep, and always right after bible study. Half of them went to St. Mary's, and I'd bet the all hot water in the motel that the other kids went to churches that did business with this guy."

Dean pulled away from the curb. "Yeah, but he must have sold thousands of the thing over the years – this neighborhood's not exactly starter-home territory. Why did it pick _these_ kids, and why now? We did our homework, and there haven't been any deaths like this. Ever."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. But I do know that there's no way it's a coincidence."

"There's got to be more to it. We have to get into their houses to look around."

"You said you had an idea about that. We can go tomorrow. Tonight, I'm tracking down every prayer book Mr. Rogers sold."


	4. My Soul To Keep

**Disclaimer: The Greek mythology in this tale is 100% guaranteed to be inaccurate.**

* * *

Sam jerked awake and the muscles in his neck screamed in protest, forcing him to sit up rather abruptly. He'd fallen asleep against the wood of the headboard, and he could feel the temporary depression in his skin as he massaged the cramp. Dean startled, settling once he realized nothing was wrong. He shot Sam an affectionate smirk, turning the page of the book in front of him.

"Spent a lot of time sleeping on wood, haven't you?"

Sam tried to figure out what he was talking about, but his mind was awash in dream images of whales and parted oceans. "Huh?"

"At school," Dean said, chuckling. "I bet you pulled all-nighters in the library every chance you got."

Sam rubbed his eyes; the light in the room was dim, but it was brighter than the backs of his eyelids. "What, at Stanford?"

"No, Sam. The other school."

Sam closed his laptop. "Yeah, I guess. I was pre-law, there was a lot to read. And where the hell did that come from?"

Dean shook his head, taking a swig of beer. "Just thinking."

"What are you reading? It's the middle of the night."

"Couldn't sleep," Dean said, setting the book aside. It was only now that Sam noticed that Dean's bed was covered with old books, some of which hadn't left the trunk of the Impala since before their father died. "Had a hunch. Thought I'd check it out."

"What hunch?"

"I got to thinking. We've been focused on the fact that these are kids, but what if it ain't about that, you know? What if the kid thing is just, I don't know – "

"– incidental?"

"Yeah, incidental. What if it's about something else?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. What we do know is that the vics threw off their mortal coils after bedtime, so I figured, let's start there. What kinda monster kills you in your sleep?"

Sam looked skeptical. "What, like Freddy Krueger?"

"Nope." He tossed a small paperback to Sam, who caught it.

Sam opened it to the marked page. "Hypnos," he read aloud. "God of sleep."

Dean took another swig of beer. "Even better? Hypnos here has an evil twin – Thanatos."

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his feet on the worn carpet. "The personification of death."

Dean nodded. "The Greek one, anyway."

"So what – you think is knocking these kids off? Why?"

He shrugged. "But Hypnos used to mark his vics on the neck to tag 'em as his. Ditto for Thanatos." Dean opened another book and handed it to Sam, who opened it. "Remember the mark on the kid in the pine box?"

"How could I forget?"

"Well, Hypnos' mark is pretty damn similar to that one. We ain't got a picture of _Thanatos'_ little tattoo, but what are the odds it's not his?"

Sam nodded, but looked confused, studying the symbol. "But what do these two really have to do with each other? Death and sleep might be brothers, but most people don't die peacefully in their sleep. It doesn't seem like the terror twins would see much of each other outside of nursing homes and intensive care units."

"Not _now_," he said. "But _Lunesta_ wasn't exactly sold over the counter back in the day. If someone needed a little more shut-eye or to get rid of nightmares, they could call upon Hypnos to sprinkle some sand in their eyes in exchange for a lifetime of service. Recruiting, burnt offerings, public worship, dry cleaning, the whole nine until the day they died. If you were faithful, rumor had it you'd get unlimited breadsticks in the afterlife."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Their whole lives, though?"

"Even Sundays."

"And people took that deal?"

"Insomnia was a big problem back then, if the lore's anything to go by. But here's the catch – sometimes Thanatos would impersonate his brother and appear to the people who summoned him. He'd offer the deal, they'd take it, not knowing he could control when they died. They'd think they were finally going to get some sleep, then bam, family found 'em dead the next morning."

"And Thanatos got his tribute."

"Yep."

"What an asshole."

"Eh, Thanatos had a nasty rep, but there're quite a few sad cautionary tales about summoning either of the Weasley twins. The two of them got along about as well as Lex and Lionel Luthor, and it seems Hypnos was a tricky dick himself, putting people in lifelong comas if they pissed him off, cursing folks to a life without sleep if they screwed up some batshit ritual, stuff like that."

Sam stared at him. "Did you read all that _tonight_? How long have you been up?"

He shrugged and looked away, but Sam could tell he was distressed. "Can't sleep, that's all. Better than watching TV."

Sam tried to keep pity off his face; Dean would hate that. "That been happening a lot?"

"Nah," he said dismissively. "Don't worry about it. What did you turn up on Anderson before you knocked out? Any chance he's the one sending these kids home early?"

Sam shook his head. "Don't think so. I haven't been able to get the text of any of the books he sold, but if we can trust the covers, the prayers are pretty standard stuff – the Lord's Prayer, prayer of St. Francis, yadda yadda."

"What about the churches? Any of them overlap with the ones the vics went to?""

He nodded, sighing heavily. "'Fraid so. The publisher's website has a list of prominent customers, and all the churches the kids went to are on it, plus about a dozen more. Printing the books in Spanish was a smart decision – Guiding Light Publishing has sold almost a million copies of each of the books, mostly to Catholic churches on the California coast."

He got up to throw away his beer bottle, and Sam noticed the sag in his shoulders and the lazy gait. Dean had been sleeping even less than usual the past few weeks, and Sam wasn't sure why. He was worried about the deal, of course, but Dean had been worried about that for months and he's slept better than this. So what was going on now?

_Probably just getting closer to the end of the year_, Sam reasoned. _Would it really take anything more than that to keep someone up?_

"What about the author?" He came back to bed, clearing a space for himself among the books. "If this Anderson guy's not involved in the plot, maybe the writer is."

"Dead. About ten years now. No family. His royalties are going to charity."

"Of course he is," Dean muttered, taking a deep breath. "Can't ever be that simple, can it?"

"Nature of the beast. Least we have another lead, though – that mark I saw on the Freddie's neck could very well be ancient Greek. Might explain why we didn't recognize it and don't have any info on it."

"Let's hope so, cause I'm all out of ideas."

"The question is, how is Thanatos getting these kids now? I mean, I'm no historian, but I'd hazard a guess that the summoning rituals for gods this powerful aren't exactly simple."

His brother shrugged. "He's an old world god, Sam. Probably doesn't have as many worshippers as he used to. Mother and Father Christmas were handing out wreaths to their own tribute just to survive. I doubt Thanatos is quite so picky about the details anymore."

"Still, the basics probably don't change. He has to be summoned, for one thing, and the tribute has to agree to the service-for-sleep deal, right?"

"As far as I can tell," Dean conceded. "But what about these prayer books? Are there any bedtime prayers in there? The kids might be saying them before they hit the hay, and if they're vague, they could be enough to get his attention."

"I can't get whole book transcripts online, but the vics probably have copies at home. So what was your brilliant idea for getting into their houses, again?"

Dean grinned. "Get some sleep, Sammy. We'll be up early tomorrow."

"But what – "

Dean yawned loudly and deliberately, drowning out Sam's words and turning off his lamp. The room was plunged into darkness.

"Hey!"

Silence.

"Answer me!"

Nothing.

Sam could practically feel his smug little smirk.

_Dick. _

"It better not be anything embarrassing, Dean. I'm not putting on any more short shorts."

Dean finally broke and chuckled.

"You looked good, Sammy."

Sam huffed and slipped under the covers.

"Those things chafed like a mother."

"It was for a good cause."

"The vamp didn't even show that night. I paraded around on that club for three hours for nothing."

"Not _nothing. _We made like five hundred bucks that night."

"_We_?"

Dean was barely containing himself at this point, and although Sam was pissed at the memory, his wheezing laughter was a welcome sound.

"She had a thing for brunettes. It would have been a waste of time for me to do it."

"Oh, whatever."

There was a pause.

"You'd do great in Vegas."

Sam threw a pillow.

* * *

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam paced nervously below. God, the kid was jumpy; especially when it came to breaking laws unrelated to identity theft. It was kind of a wonder that Sam was such a good hunter with all of his hangups about protocol.

"This is such a bad idea, man," Sam called up to him. "Actions have consequences. How long will it take them to fix this?"

Dean paused, resting his hands on the rails of the cherry-picker's basket. He flexed his fingers; the black electrician's gloves were thick and made it difficult to manipulate the small levers and buttons if you weren't a pro, but Dean could manage. The victims' houses were just up the road, and throwing a wrench into this baby would affect thirty, forty other houses tops. It would take SoCal Edison all of ten minutes to fix it.

"Just make sure the truck stays in park, Sam," he called down, turning his attention back to the transformer in front of him. "Trying to fucking concentrate here."

He didn't have to look down to know what look was on Sam's face, and he turned back to his work, making sure his gloves hadn't slipped.

Stealing the truck and the uniforms had been cake; neither was under anything even approaching hardcore lock and key, and the 'guard' had waved them through without looking up when they'd driven out of the lot with the cherry picker. As he'd expected, there was a power grid map in the truck, and he'd directed Sam to the right transformer. That was when he'd had started bitching about breaking the rules.

_Yeah, Sam, _Dean thought bitterly, carefully pulling at a wire. _We're really playing with fire messing with state laws. We sure are gonna get it for _this_. _

He thought back to the days when Sam was at Stanford, when his father had spent teaching him the ins and outs of electricity, how it could be used to gank monsters when you were outta options. His dad had never let him touch a transformer, but he'd watched his dad rig up enough traps for vamps and werewolves inside of old houses that he had no trouble with the simple task of cutting the power to these houses.

He had a lot of issues with his father, but he could never claim that John hadn't prepared him to handle any situation life threw his way. And he missed knowing John was there if shit went south. As much as he loved and trusted Sam to have his back, it just wasn't the same.

_You'll be seeing him again soon, _a mean little voice in his head reminded him. _Tick tock. _

Twelve street lights went dark simultaneously, drowning them in pre-dawn darkness.

_Got it. _

He locked the steel door, pocketing the key.

"You got it?"

He could barely see Sam now that the light was gone. "Yeah, take her down."

Dean leaned against the side of the basket, taking in the view of the neighborhood. It wasn't exactly Malibu Beach, but it was kinda nice – the houses had seen far better days, but there were bikes and toys on the lawns and the sidewalks were covered in chalk drawings. In a strange way, it was even nicer than the Andersons' neighborhood – this one felt lived-in.

The basket began to float down, and when it reached the truck, Dean climbed out, dropping onto the ground.

"Congratulations. Five city blocks are now without power."

"And we have a way in. You're welcome, Sam."

He was prepared to argue some more, but Sam just shook his head and climbed into the driver's seat. Dean got in on the passenger side.

"So, what, do we head over there now?"

Dean shook his head. "Wait until six. They get up early; they'll have noticed something 's off by then, be more willing to let us in."

"How long before the power company actually shows up?"

"If we park the truck where folks can see it? They might not wise up until tomorrow that we're not with Edison and call 'em."

Sam nodded, starting the truck. "Well, we got seven houses to hit, so that's good. It's five now. Wanna get some coffee? We didn't exactly get eight hours."

"Yeah, we got time. We passed a Mickey D's a mile or so back by that gas station."

* * *

The sun had just begun to filter through the smog when they knocked on the Medranos' door. They had seen the parents leave half an hour before; as it was a Saturday, the older children were still inside. A teenaged girl sat at the kitchen table they could see through the window, flipping through a magazine.

Sam rang the bell and a small-sounding dog barked. The girl shot up from the table, looking out the window. Dean waved, pointing to his SoCal Edison badge. She vanished from the window and threw the deadbolt on the door, swinging it wide.

"Thank god you're here," she said, letting them in. "If the kids can't watch some TV when they eat they're gonna give me a really hard time."

"No problem," Sam said. The dog ran back and forth around his feet; she bent and picked it up. "Power's out for the whole area; might be there's some trouble with the individual lines."

She frowned, closing her robe over her pajamas. "It's not gonna catch fire, is it? Should I take the kids out – "

"No, no," Dean assured her. "Nothing like that. We just need to check the wiring, make sure the current's flowing. You mind if we look around?"

"Okay. You guys want some coffee or something?"

"I'll take some," Dean said, following her into the kitchen. When her back was turned, he pointed in the direction of the bedrooms. Sam nodded.

He almost had to turn sideways to fit down the narrow hallway. The ceilings were low as well – only about ten feet high – and the carpets were pretty old by the look of them. The walls were cracked as well; there had been a few attempts to patch them, but the house was very old and only so much could be done. But Sam could tell that even with all that, this had been a happy home; pictured of family and friends covered the walls, and most of the shots were candids. The Medranos had a pair of older fraternal twins; they looked to be about seven or eight.

He paused in front of one picture of little Freddie sitting in a sandbox. He was holding a book.

Sam looked closer, and wasn't entirely surprised to see that it was one of the prayer books.

_So they are tied to this, _he thought. The kid was hugging the thing like a security blanket; Sam was willing to be he knew every word of every prayer inside, and no doubt said one every night.

He set out for his bedroom.

It was at the end of the hall, between the master and his siblings' room. There was a drawing of something on the door; he examined it, but it looked innocuous enough. He opened the door stepping inside.

A small toddler bed was set against one wall. The comforter had racecars on it, and Sam noticed that the whole room was drowning in racecars – posters, Hot Wheels toys, a small area rug. He felt suddenly like some kind of voyeur, peeking in on this kid's life when he had no right to be there.

There was a small bookshelf in the corner and he knelt before it, looking through the books. Near the end of the row on the second shelf, he recognized one of the covers he'd seen online. _Oraciones para Niños, _the title read; a smiling picture of Noah in front of the ark was on the front. He opened the book, but all of the text was in Spanish. They'd have to translate it when they got back to the motel.

He looked around the rest of the room for any clues for what might have come in and killed Freddie, but found nothing. It was unusual – most monsters left something behind if they'd been in the room. Were Hypnos and Thanatos unusually careful? Or had they simply not been here?

And if that was the case, how had they talked to Freddie to make the deal?

He heard a male voice that wasn't Dean's moving toward him down the hall and he quickly started unscrewing the panel over one of the electrical sockets. He had only just gotten in off and started playing with the wires when the man came in, sizing him up.

"You with Edison?"

"Yes sir." He pulled out his fake I.D. and handed it to the man. "We've had a major power failure in the area; just trying to figure out the source."

The man eyed him suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be outside on the side of the house?"

_Shit. _"We're not sure if it's a main line problem or something in the wiring of the houses," he said quickly. He was talking out of his ass; he hoped this guy didn't know anything about electricity. "Everything seems fine at the main transformer for the area, so it's got to be a problem at this end."

The guy considered what he was saying and believed it, at least superficially. "Okay. But call next time, will you? There's a lot of weirdos out there."

"I hear you," Sam said.

The man disappeared back down the hall and Sam breathed a sigh of relief, shoving the book into the giant pocket of the uniform pants. _Told Dean this would be risky, _he thought. _People are really on edge around here. _

He screwed the panel back onto the socket and left the room, surprised to see Dean eating some kind of pastry and sitting at the table in the kitchen. The babysitter and the mystery man were on the back porch, arguing.

"What's that about?"

"That's Maritza's dad," Dean explained. "He came to check on her. Didn't know we'd be here."

"Thanks for the heads up."

"What did you want me to do, sprint down the hall to warn you?"

"Guess not."

"Find anything?"

"The book. Nothing else concrete, though. These guys are neat, I'll say that for them."

"Eh, they always leave something behind. Maybe we'll get lucky at one of the other houses."

Maritza and her father were back inside so they let the conversation drop and stood up to leave.

"Did you find out what was wrong?" Maritza asked.

"Yeah," Sam said. "The wiring here in this house is fine; we must have missed something further out, or else one of the other houses around here is causing it."

"Long day ahead," Dean added. "Thanks for the coffee."

"No problem," her father answered. Most of the suspicion was gone from his face, Sam was relieved to see. "When do you think you'll be around to my place? I'm just around the corner."

"Probably around noon," Dean said, "give or take a half an hour. We want to cover this street first."

"See you then," he said, walking out with them.

Once they were near the truck and he was out of earshot, Dean held out his palm. "Lemme see it."

"Why? We can't read it here."

"Just do it, Sam."

"Fine." He pulled it out of his pocket. "Happy?"

Dean looked around casually and pulled out an EMF meter, holding it up to the book.

"Power lines, dude."

"Power lines with no juice, genius."

To Sam's surprise, the EMF meter lit up.

Dean smirked.

"That why you insisted on this electrician scheme? To use the EMF?"

"Worked, didn't it?"

"You could have just told me. Would have saved me a lot of breath."

"Yeah, but it's more fun to yank your chain and prove you wrong."

Sam rolled his eyes. "So, what now?"

"Now," Dean said, shoving the EMF meter into one of his many pockets, "we do our jobs. We check out these houses, see if these kids all have these Jesus Loves Me books, and check for creepy crap." He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Let's roll."

* * *

But they only got to five houses before Edison noticed the malfunctioning transformer and came out to fix it. The power came back on while he and Dean were scanning one of the other kids' rooms, and they'd been forced to cut the mission short. Still, they'd gotten what they needed; every one of the kids' rooms gave the EMF meter a seizure, and they all had copies of the same book. Now, he and Dean were sitting in the truck near the shipping docks, waiting until nightfall to return the truck and the equipment.

Dean shoveled a handful of carne asada fries into his mouth. "How did you not tell me about these, man? These are fuckin' heaven."

"Never got around to it," he replied, turning the page.

"Got anything? You remember any Español from your stint in the Golden State?"

"No," he said, "not really. But I do know that this one seems familiar for some reason. Can't really put my finger on it."

Dean set the fries down and took the book from Sam, examining the page he was reading.

_Ahora__me acuesto__a dormir__,_

_le pido al __Señor__que guarde mi alma._

_Si__muero antes de__despertar,_

_le pido__al Señor mi alma __a tomar._

"All Greek to me," Dean said.

"Not all of it," Sam said, sighing.

"What is it?"

"That word, _alma_? It means 'soul'."


	5. For If I Die

Ruby's blood bubbled in the bowl.

She looked up from the scroll she held in her hands, listening.

_Ruby…_

She smiled.

Lilith.

Setting the scroll down gently so as not to damage it – it was very old and extremely fragile – she walked over to the plastic bowl, which sat on a cheap card table in the corner. Not exactly a prestigious location for a demonic walkie-talkie, she knew, but it would have to do. Sam needed to believe she was on the run from every demon in existence and flying by the seat of her pants; it had to look like random blood for a spell. The last thing she needed was to have him walk in on her talking worshipfully into a golden chalice perched atop a pile of silver coins.

"I'm here," she said. Lilith grew stronger every day, and soon she'd be ready to come to Earth.

And meet Sam.

_I have a task for you._

"Anything."

_There's an angel, _Lilith murmured seductively_. He has a message for you. Instructions. _

"An angel?" She couldn't keep the distaste from her tone. "What for?"

_All in good time, _Lilith replied. _Have faith. This mission is important. All parts must be played according to script. Deviations must not be tolerated._

"I do have faith," Ruby said softly. "Just tell me what to do."

Ruby could feel her smile.

_His name is Zachariah, _she whispered.

* * *

Sam slammed the English-Spanish dictionary down on the table, scribbling the last of the translation in the small yellow note pad. Dean looked over his shoulder in alarm, mid-bite into a bean burrito.

"I knew it sounded familiar," Sam said, walking over and dropping onto the foot of the bed. Dean was sitting in a chair near the corner of the bed, watching a late-night rerun of _I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant_. Sam had been so engrossed in the translation that hadn't noticed what was on television, but now he shot Dean a questioning look.

"It was this or C-Span," Dean said defensively. He finished swallowing what was in his mouth. "They make you pay extra for the full lineup."

"Right." Sam held up the page so Dean could see. "I translated it, and we know this prayer. It's one of the most popular in the English language."

Dean took the paper, looking it over. "Now I lay me down to sleep," he said aloud. "I pray the lord my soul to keep. For if I die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take." He lifted and eyebrow and chuckled. "Pretty heavy stuff for kids, if you ask me."

"Wait…you don't recognize it?"

"Should I?"

"Dad taught it to us, Dean. Told us to say it every night before bed, remember, so that God would protect us?"

He gave Sam a long look, then glanced down at his burrito. "Guess it was just you."

Sam's eyes turned down at the corners. "Oh – "

"Doesn't matter." He finished off the burrito and balled up the paper, tossing it into a small trash can near the fridge. "So, do we think the Doublemint twins are treating it like a summoning spell?"

Sam sighed. "They are technically offering their souls. The prayer mentions both sleep and death, too. For desperate gods, it's probably more than enough."

"Only one problem."

"What's that?"

"That delightful little sonnet gives them permission to take souls, yeah, but the lore says they have to agree to the deal handshake-style before it can go down. Even if they switch it up and mark the bodies after they move in for the kill, they have to talk to these kids face to face at some point. It's like you said, some stuff just can't be changed."

"But when?" Sam set the notebook on the bed beside him, running a hand through his hair. "These kids' lives have been scrutinized as closely as possible – no way some creep gets close to them without someone noticing. These kids are all under four, man. They're with their parents all the time."

"And why _these _kids?" Dean stood and walked back to his bed, rifling through some of the papers. "I mean, what's special about them? These tots all live on one street, but it's in a neighborhood with a hundred streets just like that one. Why'd the Baldwin brothers choose them?"

Sam shrugged and yawned. "I don't know. But it's late. I'm going to sleep."

"You go ahead, I'm gonna check something out real quick."

"Tonight? Aren't you tired?"

Dean gave a non-committal nod. "Eh, I'm okay. A little tired, but I haven't been sleeping so good lately."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Nope."

Sam threw up his hands and slipped off his shirt. "Of course not. Don't know why I bothered."

"Me neither."

After he'd changed into his pajamas, Sam slipped under the covers, turning off his nightstand lamp. He was asleep soon after, but Dean remained awake, poring over the lore, looking for any clues he could find. There was something tying these vics together, if he could only find it…

Time passed as he read book after book, each of which told him less than the last. There was a lot of lore on the lineage of Greek gods, but far less on their rituals; most of their feats of greatness were simply described and fawned over rather than investigated, making it difficult to observe any patterns among them apart from murder and incest.

There was also a series of drawings of the big wigs in the pantheon hanging out in some kind of garden, but Dean couldn't see what connection it could have to their current situation. After an hour of examining them, he rested his head against the wall above the headboard, closing his eyes.

There were 125 days to go.

It was infinitely worse now that he'd admitted he didn't want to get dragged down the pit. When he was still avoiding it, it had seemed like he had forever until the day would come – he was looking forward to it and he'd accepted it, so what did it matter how soon the day arrived? But Sam and his goddam pep talks and his hope and awakened Dean's desire to survive, and Dean couldn't put it back to rest now that it was roused – he wanted to live, and his awareness of the passage of time was acute and frightening.

And he couldn't sleep worth a damn.

After about twenty minutes of feeling sorry for himself, he sat forward again, reaching over and turning on the police scanner. The Deadly Double had taken out almost a kid a day since this whole thing began, and any day now Dean was expecting to hear about another death. It was odd that they hadn't already, now that he thought about it. Maybe they knew he and Sam were in town and had decided to cut their losses. If so, they'd have a hell of a time catching up with these mooks; they were crafty and would probably change continents if they were forced to move on.

He gave the pictures of the gods in the garden another look, trying to get out of his head and see anything that might have eluded him earlier in the night. If he couldn't come up with anything by tomorrow morning, he'd give Bobby another call. Dean knew he was busy with a hunt in Seattle, but there was a chance he'd brought some of his lore books with him, and they needed all they help they could get.

An hour later, the police scanner crackled with activity, but it was only a robbery.

* * *

Dean had coffee and doughnuts waiting when Sam awoke the next morning, and he handed a cup to Sam as he came out of the bathroom. Sam sat on his bed, slipping on his socks and shoes and staring incredulously at Dean.

"We you up all night again?"

"Yes, mother," Dean said, turning down the volume on the scanner. "And it's a good thing, too, because it paid off."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Dean handed him the notepad from the day before. There was an address and a phone number written beneath a woman's name.

"Who's this?"

"Dr. Levinstein is a child psychologist," Dean said. "Specializes in nightmares. I hit a dead end on the God front, so I started looking deeper into the vics. Turns out little Karol Garcia – the second vic – went to see her about some night terrors. Her parents were worried about her not sleeping, and this woman works at Karol's preschool two days a week. Helps train the school counselors at a local college, too."

Sam looked over the information. "How'd you find this?"

"She was mentioned as an expert witness in some child abduction cases from the eighties I was looking into, and Levinstein's website has some group pictures of happy patients on the home page. Guess who's in one of them?"

"Karol."

"Yep. Even better, her parents must have waived confidentiality, because little Karol's listed as a success story. All the details are there. We should check her out, see if she know anything."

A few moments passed in silence, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"I'm worried about you, man."

"Why? Afraid I'm getting better than you at this research stuff?"

"You know what I mean. You haven't slept in days."

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"You're not. And you're not coming with me to Levinstein's."

"Excuse me?"

"You're gonna stay here and get some rest, Dean. I'll let you know what I find out."

Sam snatched the keys off the nightstand before Dean could stop him, pocketing them.

"Hey!"

"Get some sleep."

The motel room door slammed as Sam trotted across the parking lot to the Impala. Ordinarily, Dean would have skipped rocks over lava to keep anyone else from behind the wheel of that car, but he really was tuckered the fuck out. He stacked the papers and books to one side of the bed and slipped under the covers, unable to believe he'd just let Sam bully him out of a hunt.

_Kid's getting too big for his britches, _he thought, closing his eyes.

* * *

It was a while before sleep came, but come it did. It was a strange sensation, being aware of dreaming; it wasn't something that usually happened to him. _Guess Sam was right, _he thought, walking. _I was on the edge of passing out. _

He was in a field that was vaguely familiar, although he couldn't place it. The grass was dewy and cold beneath his feet, but he enjoyed the feel of it. He trudged across it to the tree line on the opposite side, watching some butterflies float past him.

"Hello, Dean."

He turned slowly around, unable to move any faster.

"I've been waiting for you."

The guy was around six feet tall with a curly beard, and he looked like he could bench four hundred, easy. He was also completely naked.

"Whoa, whoa," Dean said. "Grab a towel, buddy. This ain't the health club."

The sun disappeared behind a cloud, and Dean looked up to discover that the sky was a deep pink, like it was sunset. A green cloud was passing over the sun.

_What the hell?_

"Don't worry," the man said, moving closer to Dean. "You're not in danger."

"Who the hell are you? What do you want?"

"Just to talk," he said softly. "To let you know that you're making a mistake, hunting me."

_Hypnos._

"Hmm," he said. "It's regrettable, that I've been driven to such depths. Children, imagine! But we don't stay in our prime forever…no, we all get old. I'm only trying to stay alive, Dean. We have that in common, don't we? Would you punish me for that?"

"We have nothing in common," Dean said harshly. It was odd; there were no echoes in this place, no acoustics. It was like taking into a pillow. "And when I find you – "

"If I can't appeal to your sense of fairness," he said. "Perhaps a business proposition."

"Had my fill of those, thanks."

"No, Dean." Hypnos stood about three feet in front of him now. "I'm no demon. And you've never gotten an offer like this."


	6. Before I Wake

Sam walked out the door of the dry cleaners, Fed Suit in hand. Dr. Levenstein's office was only a few blocks away. It opened at nine and he planned to get in a few minutes early, before her first appointment.

He stopped at a Wendy's to change clothes, winking at the cashier girl when she have him a curious once over as he left the bathroom. He stopped back at the car for his note pad and F. B. I. badge, then started for the psychologist's office.

_Dean must really be out of it, _he thought, wishing he'd paid closer attention to his brother the past few weeks. _ Can't believe he let me take off in the Impala without a gunfight. _

He'd been so deep into it with Ruby, looking for a way to break the deal that he hadn't noticed how off-kilter Dean was. Not that it had helped any; they were no closer to saving Dean than they had been since the start of the whole thing. They wouldn't give up, though – Dean might not trust her, but Sam firmly believed that she was their best shot at keeping him out of the pit.

If only Dean had as much faith that they'd win. He was putting on a brave face for Sam, but it wasn't a very good one. He had acknowledged that he didn't want to die and would cooperate with Sam attempts to get him out of this mess, but…well, Dean was going over his bucket list, calling old friends, making amends. Sam didn't think the hardcore insomnia had started until recently, though, and despite having dismissed it as nerves before, he was starting to worry it was more than that. Especially in light of this case.

A bell rang somewhere behind the reception desk as he pulled open the door, stepping into the waiting room. The furniture was nice – seats were covered and comfortable-looking, carpeting was several grades above the crap most doctor's offices used – and there were toys and coloring books on a table that ran the length of the wall to Sam's right. A smiling woman in an orange blouse sat behind the reception window, beckoning him.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Agent Hotchner," he said authoritatively, flashing the badge. "I was hoping to speak with Dr. Levinstein before her patients started arriving. I have a few questions about one of her former patients."

"Oh," she said, getting to her feet. "I'll go see if she's free."

"Thank you."

The woman disappeared down a hallway. Sam peered through the glass at the desk on the other side; a desktop calendar and a computer were all he could see. He squinted, struggling to read it upside down.

He looked up quickly when he heard someone coming back toward him, and a moment later, the receptionist reappeared, opening a door to his left.

"She's got some time now. A patient canceled."

"Thanks," Sam said as she held the door open for him. He followed her down the same hallway, examining the pictures on the walls. All were photos of children, none of them over ten years old; some were smiling, others not. To Sam's mild disappointment, there was nothing weird about anything here, at least at first glance.

Dr. Levinstein was in her early fifties, with red hair she piled on top of her head in an elaborate balance of pins and clips. She wore a yellow sweater with a bird on it and her nails were painted a bright green. Sam's surprise must have shown on his face because she laughed, gesturing at one of the chairs in front of her large oak desk.

"Sit," she said with a smile. "I'm not as nutty as I look, I swear."

Sam sat and extended a hand, which she accepted. "I'm Agent Hotchner," he said. "I'm here about a case involving one of your patients – "

"Yes, Karol Garcia, I heard." She took a swig from a bottle on the corner of her desk. "Awful stuff. I thought the police had dropped the case, chalked it up to natural causes?"

"In all likelihood, that's what happened, but we have to be thorough. The Bureau was invited in to investigate, and we're trying to decide if we should proceed with the case."

"I'll be glad to help in any way I can. Karol's parents already waived confidentiality when the cops thought she was murdered."

"I'll try not to waste any of your time," he said. "Now, did Karol ever mention anyone new in her life, an adult? Maybe someone who asked her strange questions?"

Dr. Levinstein shook her head. "If she did, she didn't mention them to me, and she was very forthcoming with information during our sessions. I don't think she would lie about it if anything like that had happened."

Sam nodded, making a note. "She came to you for treatment with night terrors, is that correct?"

"Yes. Her parents fought often – money problems, you know – and she was having some difficulty dealing with it. She had some terrifying nightmares, and we worked on identifying what she was really afraid of. She died before completing the therapy course, but we had nine sessions together, in all."

"Was there anything out of the ordinary about the nightmares? Any red flags?"

"Nothing that would indicate that she was being abused, if that's what you're asking, but they certainly were very creative. I don't even need to check my notes, they were so unusual."

"Can you elaborate on that?"

"Well, she said she went to a garden where the sky was green and the clouds were like Easter eggs. There were apparently big white flowers everywhere – she said they were like the ones in front of her house. Probably how the images made it into her dreams, you know. And a monster was waiting for her there," the doctor said. "She described him as a giant bat-like creature. It told her it wanted to be her friend forever, and was very friendly at first, she told me."

"And later?"

"Well, her father moved out soon after that session, and when she came in the following week, she told me the monster had turned mean and was very angry with her."

Sam frowned, making more notes. "And then what?"

"And then things got better," she said simply. "Her mother got a better job, her father moved back in, and a few sessions later, her nightmares were gone. At least, they were no longer nightmares, the dreams and the monsters were still there, but – "

"Monsters, as in plural?"

"Oh, yes. By our last session, there were three monsters, and she just couldn't stop talking about how wonderful they were to her, how they helped her sleep and played with her – "

Sam was writing quickly; Dr. Levinstein wore a bemused smirk.

"There only a child's dreams, agent," she said. "She was just working through issues with her home life. I doubt her nighttime companions had anything at all to do with what killed her."

"Of course," Sam said, giving her a thin-lipped smile. "Just being thorough; my unit chief is a bit of a hard ass. Was there anything else you wanted to add?"

She shrugged. "Nothing else to say. She was a normal girl, just having a little difficulty."

He nodded, standing up to leave. "Thanks for your time. If we have any more questions, I'll call to set up an appointment."

"I'm available after four p. m." She pointed down the hall. "Ask Laura for one of my cards."

"I'll do that."

After he'd slipped her card into his wallet, he raced back to the car, not bothering to put on his seat belt before starting it.

_Three, _he thought frantically, joining the freeway and heading toward the victims' street. _Not two. There's another one. _

But who?

A_t least now we know how they're making the deals. They're getting to these kids in their dreams. _

He cruised down the street, looking at the plants outside the houses. Sure enough, all of the victims' houses had flowering plants in front, white with a blue tint. He parked the car and walked up to the house nearest him, glad their driveway was empty.

He broke off a few of the flowers and carried them with him, racing back to the motel. He'd bet anything that these flowers, whatever they were, had been involved in the original rituals for summoning Hypnos and Thanatos.

The engine roared as he pulled around a corner.

* * *

Dean jerked awake with a gasp, running his hands over his torso. Sam got up from the table and stood over him, looking concerned.

"You okay?" He sat on the bed across from Dean, looking serious.

Dean took a few moments to get his breathing under control and looked around the room. It was dark outside, though not completely; if he'd had to guess, he'd say it was around six o'clock. Sam had moved most of the materials he'd been reading the night before onto the small dining table in the kitchenette; his laptop was open, and there was a big picture of a white flower on the screen.

"Yeah," Dean said, shaking his head. "I just had a hell of a dream, Sammy."

"Let me guess," Sam said. "You were in a garden. There was a Technicolor sky, and you met a monster who offered you some kind of deal, am I right?"

_What the hell? _"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Went to see the kid shrink while you were asleep. Little Karol had the exact same dream."

_I doubt that. _"What?"

"Yeah. The first time she had it, the monster was some kind of bat creature that scared her. Then it befriended her, and my guess is, tried to get her to agree to the deal. She got real scared, didn't want to go to sleep for fear of seeing this thing, and then, poof, everything's hunky dory, and she can sleep fine. By the time she died, there were three of these things in her dream with her."

"_Three_?" Dean ran a hand over his face, still shaken. "Lore didn't say anything about a third brother."

"It wouldn't," Sam said. "Because the third god is Hypnos' son, Morpheus."

"His _son_?"

He nodded. "Greek god of dreams. See, when people wanted to get rid of nightmares or commune with spirits of the dead, they'd call on this guy using a ritual involving…" He reached into the pocket of his suit, pulling out one of the flowers. "One of these."

Dean took the plant, turning it over in his hands. It looked like a dime-a-dozen pony pack flower from a home improvement store. "Groundcover?"

"Bearded iris," Sam said. "Found it in front of the vics houses. Insanely popular, but originally from the Mediterranean. Grew all over, and Morpheus was especially fond of it. That garden in your dream?" He handed Dean one of the drawings he'd been looking at the night before. "It loosely translates to Garden of the Gods. It's a place where these supernatural agreements were made back in the day."

"So, what," Deans asked, standing, "these three decide to have a family reunion in SoCal and take out a bunch of kids? Why?"

"It's like you said. They don't have the worshippers they used to; hell, they don't even make Pez dispensers of these guys to sell in Greek tourist shops. The rituals are specific and complicated, and nobody knows them anymore. So they use Morpheus to get into people's dreams – he can control what they see. The kids say the prayer – that's how they target the vics, along with the flowers. Kids go to sleep, wake up in the garden. The wonder twins close the sale, Thanatos kills the kids, and they get their tribute – the souls. If the vics refuse, Hypnos won't let them sleep until they take the deal."

Dean sighed. "The Holy Trinity tag-teaming a bunch of toddlers," he said. "Wonders never cease."

"It's why I didn't find any trace of them in the room anywhere except on the books with the summoning spell – it's the only thing in the physical world they interacted with."

Dean shook his head, drumming his fingers against his thigh.

"What's the matter?"

"He offered me a deal." Dean focused on a corner of the room. "A good one."

Sam walked over to him. "What do you mean, a _good_ deal? We know their schtick – "

"He can keep me out of hell, Sammy." Dean met his gaze. "If I give him my soul, those bitches downstairs can't get at it."

Sam was silent for a moment.

"Are you serious?"

Dean nodded. "He said he's older than they are, and there's some kind of grandfather clause. His claims supersede theirs – end of story."

"He's lying, Dean – "

"Why? What would be the point? If he lied, they'd just come and take my soul away anyway, they'd still lose. Why make the offer if they wouldn't get to keep the reward?"

Sam shook his head, unable to believe it could be this easy. "Wh…what does he want in return?"

"He wants us to stop hunting him, for one."

"And let him keep killing these kids? No way – "

"No." Dean scowled. "You think I would ever consider that? No, he wants us to hide him."

Sam frowned. "From who?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "I got no idea."

"How would we hide him? We don't know what – "

"I didn't get the details, okay?!" Dean folded his hands against the back of his head. "I woke up before he could tell me."

Sam wanted to push further – he didn't trust a word this god said, whether he was on the run or not – but he could tell that a part of Dean believed this plan might work, at least for a while. It was the most invested he'd seen Dean in a while, and he didn't want to throw cold water on his hopes, slim as they were.

_And there's always the chance it might work. _

"Okay," Sam said.

"_Okay_?"

"I mean, it's a long shot, but we don't have a lot of options, right?"

Dean stared incredulously at him. "Are you serious?"

Sam shrugged. "I told you I'd do whatever it took to save you, and I meant it."

Dean watched him for a long moment. "Okay, then," he said finally. "I'll go back to sleep and get the rest of the – "

"No way you're going into this alone," Sam interrupted.

"What are you gonna do, Sam? Climb into my dreams?"

"It's funny you should mention that," Sam said. "I came across something interesting when I was reading up on the flower."

"Oh?"

"Guess who its distant, more modern cousin is?"

"Spit it out, man."

"African dream root."

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "God of dreams has a boner for the flower, and all its relatives are scarred for life." He chuckled. "Any relation to poppies?"

Sam smirked, pulling out his phone and dialing.

"Who you calling?"

"Who else? Bela."


	7. I Give The Lord

Ruby approached the warehouse, cautious.

The night was dim, with a thin layer of smog obscuring the moon and stars. There was little vegetation in this area, but crickets abounded, screeching in the darkness. The constant rumble of trucks passing on the freeway to her right masked the sound of her footsteps on the cracked pavement as she made her way through the maze of shipping containers and chain-link fences to the steel doors of the building.

They slid open a crack and she held a hand up to her face as a blinding light erupted through the small opening.

"Get in here," a voice said.

Her hand fell to her side as her eyes adjusted to the light. She stepped through the opening and into the lobby of a five star hotel. There were paintings of angels on the walls, and the room was lined with golden crown molding. She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, grinning at the tall, balding man who stood before her.

"Nice place," she said. "Especially for Van Nuys."

"We're a well-kept secret," he said. His smile was oily, his movements graceful and yet sinister; he reminded her of Alistair in more ways than one.

"Lilith says you have something to tell me. What is it?"

He gave her a long look, and she couldn't help but back away slightly under his gaze. She hated herself for her fear, but he was powerful, and she sensed he might be as ruthless as any of the heavy hitters in the pit.

He sighed and some of the heat left his stare. "Just some news your…associates down below might find useful."

She snorted. "You want to help _us_?"

"That's complicated. This? Is simple. Dean Winchester needs to go to hell."

"Preaching to the choir."

"Am I?"

She looked askance at him. "He's locked in. No way out of that deal."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

He waved his hand and a manila folder appeared. He handed it to her expectantly, and she took it.

"What, did you run out of papyrus scrolls?"

"Times change. Read it."

She looked over the information inside.

Her stomach dropped like a stone.

"An offer's been made…is...is this true?"

"Every word."

She scanned the papers again, leafing through them.

"They're ancients, and they're not even really on Earth. Demons…we can't reach them."

"Clever little bastards, aren't they?"

"How do we stop this?"

"_You_ can't."

"Why don't _you_ guys do some of the heavy lifting for a change? You want him downstairs as bad as we do."

"Our approach needs to be more…hands off, at the moment."

"So you need us to do the dirty work?"

"It is your specialty."

"How? You know we can't, not with these gods."

"The Winchesters can."

"Why would they? This sleep god can keep Dean out of the – "

"Make it happen."

"We-"

But the hotel suite was gone, and she was standing in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, complete with rats and crates marked "U.S.A."

The folder was still in her hand.

"So long, and thanks for all the fish," she muttered, opening it again.

* * *

Bela Talbot leaned against the motel room door, the jar of African Dream Root clutched tightly to her chest. Her hair was tied in an elegant knot behind her head and there were diamond earrings in her ears; Dean didn't know the brand of the coat she was wearing, but it fit like a glove. She'd arrived just a few minutes before in a large, dark sedan and had practically skulked into their room like a villain in an ADT commercial.

"What's with the cloak and dagger?" He grabbed a beer from the fridge and twisted off the cap. Sam was out at the car, gathering the rest of the ingredients from the trunk.

"A bit of caution never hurt," she said. She held up the jar. "Dangerous, this. Hope it's worth it."

"It is," Dean said, taking it from her. He shook it back and forth, weighing the contents. At least she'd brought a whole jar; he'd been prepared for her to try and screw them out of what they'd agreed on.

She lifted a perfectly waxed eyebrow at him. "It's all there, Dean. Would you like to count the grains?"

"Would if I had the time."

"There go your trust issues, again."

He snorted. "You're one to talk."

"Fair enough." She walked past him and dropped into one of the kitchenette chairs, looking down her nose at the empty beer bottles on the table.

He smirked, gesturing toward the beds. "Money's on the nightstand, sweetheart. Thanks for the room service."

"Ever the gentleman," she said, tossing her bag into the table. "But I'm not going anywhere."

"Excuse me?"

"Sam has asked me to stay while you visit with the naked men in your dreams."

Dean spluttered.

A small and haughty smile graced half of her mouth.

"I think we can handle it from here, Carmen Sandiego."

"Doubt it."

He looked her up and down. "You look like you got somewhere to be."

"I rescheduled," she said. "Besides, you brother doesn't want to leave your bodies unattended while you're away. Clearly the brains of the operation."

"We can call someone else."

"Can you, now? Who?"

Dean started to reply, then realized that Ruby was the only one who could fill in on such short notice.

"People," he muttered.

"What's the matter? Afraid I'll take advantage of you?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm here to do a job, nothing more."

"Right." He sat down beside her, moving the bottles to the other side of the table. "What the hell is Sam doing out there?"

"Dunno," she replied. "So what's new in your world, Dean?"

"Not much." He finished off the beer he was drinking and set the bottle to the side with the others. "Gods, ghosts, and now more gods…"

"More gods? Is that what all this" – she gestured at the jar – "is for?"

_If she had dog ears, they'd be wide open_, he thought, rolling his eyes. "Mind your business."

"Related to all the dead children around here?"

He chuckled. _So much for keeping it in the family. _

"What? Girl like me's got to keep her wits about her."

"Yeah, we're on a case. You happy, you bloodhound?"

"You know," she said quietly, turning unexpectedly serious, "it's risky, talking to gods, even in your dreams. Sure you know what you're doing?"

"Been there, done that," he said.

She smiled gently. "A bit of advice," she said, a distant look on her face, "don't make a wager. Not for anything."

She held his eyes for a long moment, and he was about to ask more questions when Sam came in, slamming the door behind him and heading their way.

"Couldn't find the distilled water in the trunk."

"Back seat," Dean said.

"Yeah, I figured it out. Got everything else, though." He sighed, leaning against the fridge. "We ready?"

"No use dragging ass."

They crushed the dream root and the other ingredients and poured the tea into Styrofoam cups before making their way back over to the beds. Bela didn't move, watching them from where she was.

"Wallet better be here when I wake up," Dean muttered.

"Sleep tight," she said.

They downed the tea and collapsed backward onto the bed.

* * *

It was nighttime.

The moon was high in the sky and huge – certainly bigger than he'd ever seen the real moon get. It was mercifully white, a fact for which Dean was grateful; the MS Paint sky had been beautiful in its own way, but it was mostly creepy as hell. Now, the landscape was at least moderately normal.

"Sam?"

No answer.

He was standing in grass damn near as tall as he was, and the landscape was dotted with the flowers Sam had showed him. They rustled in the light, cool wind that blew every few seconds, but made no sounds. A river rushed somewhere nearby. Where there had been trees to the west the last time he was here, there was a mid-sized mountain about a fifteen minute walk from where he stood.

"Sam!"

He spun in a circle, looking for his brother, and spotted him near the mountain. Dean hesitated before moving in that direction; he could have sworn Sam wasn't over there a moment ago.

"Dean?"

Sam waved his hands back and forth like a crossing guard, and Dean jogged toward him, suddenly much less sure of their plan than he had been only hours before. Even if it was true that these ancient Greeks could keep him out of the hot box, which was a big if, when did things ever turn out well with the pagans?

Surprisingly, Sam didn't vanish like a mirage when Dean reached him, and the two of them surveyed the landscape. Sam pointed upward at the mountain, gesturing at a small cave. A dim light emanated from the gap in the rock.

"Think that's it?"

Sam nodded. "Hypnos lives in a cave, it says. Doesn't like to be woken up. Morpheus guards the place so nobody gets in."

"And Dr. Death?"

"Didn't say."

"Fantastic."

Sam looked around them, frowning.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just…are you really dreaming all this?"

"Must be. We're here, aren't we?"

"I guess…"

"Why, what are you thinking?"

"We've never been to a place like this. Hell, I've never even _heard _of a place like this – we got one of the Rocky Mountains here, a random cave, savannah grass, a deciduous forest, and…what sounds like the Mississippi running through here."

"Yeah, so?"

"So I don't think we're in your head, Dean. I think we're somewhere else. Some kind of dream world."

"Don't you think that's pushing it, even for us?"

"I – "

"We've been waiting for you."

Sam and Dean both whipped around to see who was behind them. The man they saw was younger than Hypnos, and to Dean's relief, was wearing canvas pants. His voice was melodic and soft, though they had no trouble hearing him. He was bald and wore a rope necklace with some kind of stone hanging from it, and smiled halfheartedly at them.

"Sorry for the delay," Sam said awkwardly.

Morpheus focused his attention on Sam, narrowing his eyes. "You've brought a brother," he said. "Tell me, do you wish to serve us, as well?"

"Me? No, no, I – " Sam said quickly.

"We're just here to get the rundown on the deal," Dean finished for him. "We're still not sure we buy what you're selling."

"Ah," he said. "Well, let us go, then. My father doesn't often break his rest for guests. Best not test his patience."

They followed him up a narrow path that started at the base of the mountain and led straight to the cave. It was odd; the path was wide and quite obvious once they were on it, but before Morpheus had led them forward, Dean hadn't noticed it at all. Sam noticed its sudden appearance as well, and they traded suspicious looks as they trailed behind Morpheus in silence.

He came to a sudden halt at the cave mouth, and Sam and Dean nearly walked into his back. The entrance was also much larger than it had appeared from the clearing – it was easily fifteen feet high and twenty wide. The sound of rushing water was practically deafening, now, too, though the river _should_ have been a great distance from the cave…

Morpheus started forward and Dean glanced at Sam, who shrugged and started walking again, too.

Though the cave was tall and wide, it was fairly shallow – it extended about thirty feet into the face of the mountain. There was nothing of note inside, with only a pile of rags on the floor. In the middle of these rags sat Hypnos, Indian style.

_Least his crotch is covered. _

"Dean," his booming voice said. "It's good to see you again."

"Yeah," he replied, unsure of how to respond.

"Please, sit."

They didn't see any chairs, so they sat on the ground across from him.

"I have heard much about you, Dean Winchester," Hypnos said with a yawn.

"All good, I hope."

"Very little, I'm afraid," he said. "Especially for creatures like me. But I can help you."

"So you told me. I'm just not sure I believe you."

Hypnos looked confused.

"We've been screwed before," Sam explained. "A lot. We're just trying to cover our bases."

"Gods have lied to you?"

Dean chuckled. "Oh, yeah. But let's get down to brass tacks. You've been killing kids. That's not okay with us. If we're not gonna gank you, you gotta give us a reason."

"But I have," he said. "You've made a bargain with one of the western underworld creatures, and you wish to break it. I can do this deed, if you will give me your spirit and hide me from those who would do me harm."

"And who is that, exactly?" Sam asked. "Who's after you?"

"I do not know," Hypnos said sadly. "I only know that they are powerful. They have killed off most of my siblings. My brother and my son are all that's left of my family. My son has hidden us in the land of dreams, but I fear they will soon find us here, as well."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, unsure. Dean wanted to believe this thing, but something about his they-killed-my-poor-family story just wasn't sitting right.

"So, if I agree to this," Dean said, "you'll just quit grabbing your own tribute, huh? You'll just take what we give you? No bullshit?"

Hypnos' earnest expression faltered. "Well," he said, "we must have tribute in order to survive. It's what we are. And it takes much power to hold off our unseen foes…" He shrugged. "The details are unimportant. What matters is keeping you away from that place they'll send you if they capture your spirit. It's a very bad place."

"Unlike the place you stashed the kids' souls, huh?"

"What place is that, by the way?" Sam piped up. "You guys got some basement somewhere where you lock away your tributes' souls for safe keeping?"

"They've floated down the river, of course," Hypnos said matter-of-factly.

"The river?"

"Yes," he gestured at the walls of the cave. "The Lethe runs from here to the underworld, and cleans men's spirits of heavy memories."

"So you float them in a basket to hell? Nice."

"Not Hell. The underworld."

Dean chuckled. "Potato, po-tah-to."

Hypnos' patient expression turned suddenly dark. The wind picked up outside, and the sound of the river grew even louder around them; it sounded as though it might crash through the walls of the cave. "There are more things in heaven and earth than you've dreamt of in your philosophy," he said.

He relaxed.

Sam raised a curious eyebrow. "Shakespeare? Really?"

Hypnos smiled. "I am tired," he said. "Weak. And I must sleep. You do not have long, Dean, nor do we. Make your decision, and come with an answer in two days' time. If you do not, I fear we will have to move on, and fates will be sealed, both yours and mine."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Sure thing, doc. Just make sure no toddlers go missing between now and then."

Hypnos frowned, clearly not a fan of being bossed by humans. "Very well."


	8. My Soul To Take

They'd awoken to an empty motel room a few hours before, the darkness just beginning surrender to the gray, pre-dawn light. Bela had left a note saying she'd been called away, and Sam figured she had to have been in one hell of a good mood, because she left a few hex bags in her wake. They were good ones, too, he noticed as he examined them. Dean couldn't care less about the gesture – he was just glad she hadn't fleeced them down to the lint in their pockets – but Sam was curious about the woman, and where she'd learned so much, being so young. Sam bet she could give Bobby a run for his money in the supernatural knowledge department.

Dean was locked and loaded to give Hypnos what he wanted, but Sam was extremely doubtful of his trustworthiness. He supposed it was possible that a pagan god could keep a soul out of hell, but he got the distinct feeling there was quite a bit more to the arrangement than Hypnos had told them. What really worried him was Dean's apparent lack of skepticism about this whole thing – his brother was usually the one telling _him_ that chatting with monsters was a bad idea.

"This is your soul we're talking about here, Dean – "

"I know – "

"Do you? Because you're taking a liking to this plan awfully fast – "

"Yeah, well, you'll have to friggin' forgive me for being in such a damn hurry."

"That's not what I mean – "

"This could work, man!"

"It could, but…" Sam sighed and ran a hand over his jawline. "At what cost? There's no way this doesn't come back to bite us – hard."

"Do you really think I haven't thought about that, Sam?"

"I think you're scared," Sam said. "And I think you're desperate, but we shouldn't go through with this unless we're a hundred percent sure what we're getting ourselves into."

Dean snorted. "_We_ aren't going to hell if we can't find a way to break this contract. _We _aren't screwed. I am. And believe me, I know exactly what I'm getting into. And out of."

"Do you really think whoever holds your contract is gonna let go that easily? And you heard what Hypnos said. Whatever's after him had no problem offing the rest of his family – what's gonna happen when they finally get around to him? And what about the tribute he needs? Are we really gonna toss human souls to this thing to eat?"

Sam watched a variety of emotions cross Dean's face as he tried to think of a retort. Finally, he shook his head, walking away.

"Dean –"

"Nah, you're right," Dean said. "It was a stupid plan, anyway. Dunno what the hell I was thinking."

"Don't – "

"Gimme a ring when Bobby gets here, huh? I'm going out."

He snatched the keys from the table and headed out the motel room door.

* * *

It was a quiet morning.

The sun hovered just below the horizon, casting subtle rays of light onto the deep periwinkle sky. The last of the stars were fading, and soon, alarm clocks would go off and people would wake.

She didn't have much time.

Ruby walked briskly down the street, listening intently for the sound of motion and speech. Every house she passed had someone awake inside, and she cursed as she traversed block after block, unable to find a house where everyone was still at rest.

God, why were these people up so goddamn early?

The forty-seventh house proved to be an exception.

She moved soundlessly though the dewy grass, trotting along the side of the small adobe house, listening. There were three people inside, still asleep.

And one of them was a small child.

She smiled, picking a bearded lily off a nearby bush before vanishing from sight.

* * *

"Near as I can tell, bastard was telling the truth."

"_What_?"

It was almost eight in the morning, and Dean was still out. Bobby had arrived about an hour earlier, and he and Sam were bent over a pile of books and paperwork on the small kitchenette table. Bobby looked exhausted – he was coming right off a hunt and probably hadn't had a chance to sleep yet. Sam poured more coffee into his foam cup.

"Don't make me repeat myself, boy," he said wearily. "I just forged Barry Johnson's signature on a ticket to get on a flight so rough I need a goddamn chiropractor to straighten my back out."

"You _flew _here?"

"Course I flew here," he said matter-of-factly. "When your fool brother called asking me about soul trades with ancient Greek gods, I knew I had to hightail it here before he pulled a Persephone."

"How'd you get all your hunting stuff here? No way they let you take all these guns on the plane."

"Checked bags," he said. "Not that it helped much. TSA damn near gave me a colonoscopy."

Sam winced. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby waved him off, turning a page in the book in front of him. "Anyway, this Hypnos is the real deal. He's cooled his jets quite a bit since his heyday, but he can still swing a spell like the one he offered your brother."

Sam could hardly believe it. _Is this really gonna work_? "So Dean says uncle, and his soul's safe, just like that?"

"Well, safety's relative," Bobby added. "These Greeks ain't like the Christians. You don't get a one-way ticket to heaven or hell for all eternity; these gods can move mortals around whenever they feel the itch. And as far as where souls get to after they die? Well, there's a lotta options, and the attics ain't always better than the basements, if you know what I mean."

"But he can keep Dean safe from his deal? Keep him from going to hell?"

Bobby nodded. "Same deal he offers everyone, really. Lifetime of service, sweet dreams and happy endings when your eyes finally close for good. Course, you're his slave for your whole life, but it's the best thing on the menu in y'all's case."

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe it's come to this," he said. "I mean, is this who we are now? Sacrificing people to save our own skins? Working with monsters?"

Bobby shrugged. "This is the big leagues, son. Gotta pay to play. Your brother did a major thing, bringing you back from yonder. Ain't gonna be no easy outs."

He sighed. "And it might not pan out after all, even if we actually do this."

"Why not?" Bobby asked.

"Something's after these gods. The ones in Hypnos' family, at least. And he wants us to protect him somewhow."

"What makes you say that?"

"He told us. All of his family's dead, save his brother and son. Something with a lot of mojo is taking them out, and now they're hiding out in Morpheus' dream world so whatever it is can't find them. Only a matter of time, though."

"Other hunters, maybe?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah, he would have said so. He doesn't know what the hell is after them, but it packs a hell of a punch. I mean, it's got a _death_ god hiding from it. What could do that? And what's gonna happen when it finds out we're hiding its targets?"

Bobby looked thoughtful, turning another page in his book.

"What?"

"Hypnos and Thanatos are some of the most powerful sons of bitches in the pantheon," Bobby says. "There's only a couple of things powerful enough to have them quaking in their togas."

"Like what?"

Sam waited, but Bobby didn't answer, instead reading some fine print at the bottom of a page. On it, there was a picture of a long-haired man in flowing white and gold robes, wielding an enormous sword over the devil.


End file.
